So to the key moments of the journey. Gordon Strachan leans over me to get a can from the fridge. I heard him swear as he couldn’t open the bloody thing. Wow! I grab two or three cans of Lucazade sport before I hear Gords distinctive voice spouting off traffic directions. We pull up beside the road, off the motorway near Leeds - or somewhere in Yorkshire - and it becomes clear Gordon is departing from us. I shift my arse and let him out once the coach has ground to a halt. ‘Thanks so much’ I say ‘Ach! think nothing off it’ he says before departing off the siding and into the distance.
The journey continues and a kind man hands me some sandwiches. More lucozade - I’m loving it. More conversation with coach driver as we pass Barnsley. It’s a real privilege. Cedrick Rousell makes a move for the lucozade in ‘my’ fridge and leans over me. ‘Alright mate’ he says in a thick Belgium accent. I say ‘Hi’. I should have thought about asking him is he was well after being poleaxed but I’m overcome with the moment.
England hopeful Stephen Froggat - I’ve now provided him with Isotonic liquid refreshment. I did it confidently and he disappears into the heart of the coach.’Cheers mate’ he says. Same response as I shift of my seat to let Carlton Palmer off at a Sheffield service station. Down mobile phones I gather that Magnus is in Derby and will be in training on Friday - hot gossip!
Gary McAlister and Willo get off at Leister* and then I have a brief conversation with the driver and Andy, who ask me what course I’m doing. ‘You’re not going to like this...’ I say ‘but I do media’. A cry of bastards - joking but I sense an underlying concern. It’s what they say when I get off at Ryton. My parents are there to greet me, just after nine o’clock as I’d borrowed Gordons** mobile phone.
‘Impressed?’ I asked them. They were.
*I still can’t spell this place. I should learn how to but I can’t be buggered.
**coach driver again, I’m afraid.